


Drabbles

by Beatriceorme



Category: Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:29:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatriceorme/pseuds/Beatriceorme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Drabble - A complete story in only 100 words.<br/>Here is a series of Brokeback Mountain Drabbles for ya'll's enjoyment.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Drabbles

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble - A complete story in only 100 words.  
> Here is a series of Brokeback Mountain Drabbles for ya'll's enjoyment.

 

**Temptation**  
  
 _He’s doin’ it again._  
  
Hitching up stubborn just this side of unbreakable, Ennis scolded his mind to stay put. Had things to do, important things. Horses was needing him, needing watered and brushed.  
  
 _Others needin’ aside from you, Jack fuckin’ Twist, so just keep on lookin’ at me like that.  Ain’t takin’ the bait this time. Not foolin ‘round today. Ain’t noticin’ those eyes. Or your legs, or that sweet mouth, or -_  
  
Blindsided, Jack hit the dirt with a thud. “What the fuck?”  
  
“Shouldn’t be temptin’ me like that.”  
  
“Just openin’ a can a goddamn beans!”  
  
Ennis smiled.  
  
“I know.”  
  
  
  
 **Nightmare**  
  
“NO!”  
  
Ennis staggered from the bed, fighting soaked sheets, the dark, the sick fear squirming inside. The bathroom door shuddered, protesting the slam as he slipped down, huddling in close as if the old wood could protect him from the nightmare living on the other side, fist barely containing the whimper, scream coming out next.   
  
It was all too raw, the dream too real and the most frightening – the possible truth.  
  
Wasn’t Earl lying all bloody scraped. This time, staring up dead from that ditch were blue eyes and the hand holding the tire iron was his own.  
  
  
  
 **Truth**  
  
“The truth is…”  
  
 _I’m fuckin’ someone else, Ennis. Goin’ fishin’, swappin’ whiskey n’ spit damn near every week. Ain’t the wife I’m fuckin’ neither. It’s the foreman. Randall’s his name, n’ he’s good lookin’ n’ fun n’ smart n’…says he loves me. Willin’ t’ give it all up’ just t’ be with me, can’t think a life without me. N’ you know what I’m thinkin’ on when we’re together? When he’s fuckin’ me hard, tearin’ into my ass, shoutin’ my name, offerin’ everythin’ I ever wanted n’ deserved?_  
  
“…sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it.”  
  
  
  
 **Love**  
  
“Whatcha say, bud?  
  
Right there on the tip of his tongue, burning straight through his heart, they were waiting. Had been for years, since the beginning, asking to be shouted at the stars, or whispered like a prayer, always ready to share the joy in the knowing and offer comfort when lonely took hold.  
  
“Jack?”  
  
But, tonight they were begging, pleading, needing to be set free.  
  
“Ennis, I…”  
  
Only doubt and fear spoke first.  
  
“…was wonderin’ if’n you was plannin’ on sharin’ that whiskey.”  
  
“Shoulda said something.”  
  
Those three little words stayed secret and wept in empty silence.  
  
  
  
 **Breakfast**  
  
Coffee was brewing hot and strong, the aroma bending and bowing, dancing lively around the dawn just peeking naughty through the pines. All peeled, sliced and drowned in salt, the spuds sizzled, only a cast iron skillet keeping them from the greedy fire, while two cans of beans – labels curling and withering – sat bubbling. Eggs was in a pan to the side keeping warm and the biscuits company, and elk jerky, not needing the fire’s touch, sat waiting on the banged and dented plates.  
  
Everything was ready.  
  
“Oh…damn, Jack, that feels…so _good_!”  
  
Breakfast would be starting a little late today.  
  
  
  
 **Villain**  
  
Aguirre propped an elbow on the horn, bracing against his horse’s shuffling. Three times he come up here, leaving work piling up, and every time he and his binoculars bore witness to perversion.  
  
Haloed by sunshine, naked and pumping, Del Mar was wrapped in tight while the other – good for nothin’ Twist – was kneeling, bucking wild and grinning. Suddenly, he grabbed a handful of ass, then the breeze carried Del Mar’s scream of ecstasy all the way to Aguirre’s burning ears.  
  
Shaky hands jerked the reins home. He’d be back though, his fourth time - just checking on the sheep.   
  
  
  
**Ends**  
  
The circle was complete.  
  
It all began with a square of cardboard covered in chicken scratch and hope. And for sixteen years, his life existed for mountains, skyscrapers, clowns or puppies. Didn’t matter what as long as they sent his invitation and returned Jack’s smile.  
  
He didn’t expect, deserve anything more. Just three times a year to fly, the rest spent waiting for the next piece of freedom to arrive.  
  
No picture this time, just a plain one, returned to sender, stamped across with splotchy red.  
  
 _Deceased._  
  
The circle was complete.  
  
And all he was left holding was a postcard.  
  
  
  
 **Sunset**  
  
Ennis didn’t want company. Not in the mind to talk to anyone else. Besides, he couldn’t eat no cherry cake right now.  
  
Weeds put up a hell of a fight, loosing in the end, roots and all. He pushed aside leaves and twigs abandoned when the wind was done foolin’, caring for this speck on the broken landscape. Had to make this place proper, make it fitting, make it right.   
  
Sky was spinning out ribbons, color splashing proud against the coming night. He sat down to watch, Autumn settling in beside him.  
  
Favorite time of his week.  
  
“Miss you, friend.”  
  
  
  
 **Blue**  
  
“Daddy, what’s your favorite color?”  
  
“Blue.”  
  
“Like the sky?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Ocean blue? Like Nana Beers hair?”  
  
“Neither.”  
  
“Like a robin’s egg, then.”  
  
Another no.  
  
“Well, what other blue is there?”  
  
“Those’re all nice blues, mind you. But, what I’m talkin’ ‘bout is special. This one can make me madder n’ hell n’ then smile just the same.”  
  
“Ain’t no such thing!”  
  
“You bet there is, Junior.”  
  
“What makes it so special?”  
  
 _‘Cause I want t’ see it blinkin’ sleepy in the mornin’ n’ needin’ me at night. It’s my every breath, my life. ‘Cause its Jack n’ -_  
  
“It’s mine.”  
  
  
  
 **Death**  
  
Hope is an amazing thing, springing to life beside a shitty trailer in a town that nobody wants to claim.  
  
Hope is a playful thing, galloping through summer meadows, dipping into mountain streams, howling at the moon with the joy of living.  
  
Hope is a burning thing, scorching lust and need, the flames consuming and relentless.  
  
Hope is a lonely thing, aching deep when stretched thin over endless miles and long years, nothing feeding it except a dreamer’s heart.  
  
And hope is a fragile thing, snapping in an instant, reality finally accepted, Jack watching Ennis drive away one last time.  
  
  
  
 **Sunrise**  
  
His chest is barely movin’, breaths puffin’ out light between open, sweet lips.  
  
In n’ out.  
  
Dawn’s greetin’is stretchin’ up, dancin’ across his hip bones n’ flat belly.  
  
Up n’ down.  
  
Must be some helluva dream he’s havin’ there, him blushin’ n’ sighin’ like that.  
  
Soft n’ low.  
  
With dark lashes flutterin’, blue eyes open, my real sunrise.  
  
“Good mornin’, friend.”   
  
“Been waitin’ a damn hour for you.”  
  
Teasin’ with his wantin’ smile, he pushes back, pullin’ me in tight n’ hot, moanin’ as deep as my first thrust home.  
  
“Giddyup, cowboy.”  
  
Both smilin’ now.  
  
A good mornin’ for sure.  
  
  
  
 **Tease**  
  
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare!”  
  
“Just want to hold it, Ennis.” The long shape filled his palm, easy strokes running firm and smooth. “Fits good.”  
  
“Warnin’ you, Jack.”  
  
“Know ‘nother place it fit right.”  
  
“Stop…damnit, Jack… we got no time…shit.”  
  
Exploring tongue slicked spit from end to end, making it drip and gleam in the sunshine. Up ‘round the ridge, sneaking into a slit.  
  
“Gonna kill me with this shit!”  
  
“Don’t worry. Been practicin’ my technique.”  
  
“ _Jack_!”  
  
Mouth opened wider, lips molding to the shape, the caress of hot breath, tickling and teasing the holes.  
  
“Nope. Harmonica still sounds like shit.”  
  
  
  
 **Hate**  
  
Fists pounded the steering wheel.  
  
“Fuck! Hate this whole fucked up goddamn mess!”  
  
The Ford ate up the highway doing 90.  
  
“Fuckin’ hate his daddy for showin’ him, n’ Earl for diein’. Hate Alma for takin’ him away n’ his girls for keepin’ him. Hate Lureen, that goddamn addin’ machine, n’ LD…well…just hate em’ cause he’s still breathin’. Hate tractors, combines, Texas, sheep, beans, Brokeback and I hate…you, Ennis Del Mar! Hate you for not needin’ it, hate you for not wantin’ it… for not wantin’ me.”  
  
Blur of a sign – Juarez 10  
  
“Hate fuckin’ everythin’!”  
  
Himself most of all.  
  
  
  
 **Middles**  
  
“Jeans getting’ tight there, bud.”  
  
Smirking, Jack leaned over the fire a little more, displaying the goods. “Thought you liked ‘em like that.”  
  
“Damn right I do. Ain’t what I was talkin’ ‘bout.” His hands reverently worshiped those denim clad cheeks a minute or two before slipping around front to caress Jack’s new addition. “Easy life agreein’ with you, I see.”  
  
“Fuck you, Ennis!”  
  
He shoved away a pissed off middle-aged man, but, caught by Ennis’ strength, held tight and precious in Ennis’ arms, a love sick 19 year old melted into Ennis’ kiss.  
  
“Fuck me, Ennis.”  
  
“Always, li’l darlin’.”  
  
  
  
 **Tears**  
  
Not right, him just lyin’ there, listenin’ t’ those muffled sobs fillin’ their fancy tent. But, he had no way a fixin’ things, no way t’ give comfort, had nothin’ t’ help ease all that pain n’ hurt.  
  
‘Cause he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t whisper in the dark those words, makin’ promises, givin’ him hope. ‘Cause in this world, no matter how right, they had no chance in hell a ever comin’ true.  
  
So, Ennis did what he could do. Just held on, crushed up close, heart collectin’ Jack’s tears, knowin’ that each one that fell carried his name.  
  
  
  
 **Life**  
  
Boots.  
  
Two pair sittin’ side by side – work-worn n’ faded leanin’ up against slick n’ shiny.  
  
Hats hangin’ - black Stetson tipped t’ the left pointin’ the way t’ sweat stained tan.  
  
Two mugs waitin’ t’ be washed up in the sink. Two toothbrushes dryin’ in the bathroom. On the sheet tangled bed, two pillows - warmed t’ near smokin’ by first hello needin’ - cooled in the winter’s dawn.  
  
 _Could be like this. Always._  
  
Comin’ up behind, two arms circled ‘round, two lips teasin’ a promise. Jack closed his eyes t’ what waited outside the cabin’s window.  
  
Two separate roads home.  
  
  
  
 **Black**  
  
Ennis thought it was ‘bout the biggest piece a foolishness. Weren’t never gonna happen. Weren’t never gonna be true. But, time n’ again, he did it.  
  
Walkin’ the streets a Riverton, sittin t’ watch the county’s Patriotic Jamboree, drinkin’ late, jostlin’ through the occasional cattle auction. He’d scan the crowd, careful n’ quiet, ‘til he found what he was achin’ for.   
  
Alma used t’ ask him, then Cassie, both dien’ t’ know why he was showin’ a smile they ain’t never seen shinin’ on them. N’ he’d answer in a voice they ain’t never heard neither.  
  
“I like black hats.”  
  
  
  
 **Whisper**  
  
Humidity sat wet washcloth heavy, twirling up the tiny hairs on his neck. The late arriving twilight glazed the featureless land, a purple playground for bugs to buzz and bother about his face. Texas dirt under his boots, stubborn and strict, jarred his rodeo earnings with each step.  
  
Knew he should go back inside, enjoy the comforts of his compromise.  
  
Didn’t though. Just kept walking.  
  
Even the emotionless call of “Dinner, Jack.” went by without a resigned response.  
  
Something he was waiting for.  
  
 _There it is._  
  
A rare, sweet August breeze carried his whisper north.  
  
 _“See you in November, Ennis.”_  
  
  
  
 **Beginnings**  
  
Jack always hated that piece a shit truck a his.  
  
Daddy made him pay for it – three hundred dollars – even though it had sat out back a the barn, weeds growin’ up through the floor board, doin’ nothin’ but keepin’ the rain from ten years worth a kittens.  
  
Belchin’ smoke, burin’ oil, the inside smelled like a pig farmer’s boots, the outside what that farmer walked through.  
  
Different story today, though. Leanin’ against the rusty bed, his mind turned t’ appreciation for getting’ him t’ Signal, as he stared at the man too fuckin’ shy t’ even say hello.  
  
  
  
 **Fire**  
  
Strange n’ new, Ennis couldn’t hang a name on the feelin’ that spread out inside a his gut like warm syrup on pancakes every time he watched the sun start t’ dip low.  
  
Knew all ‘bout orbits n’ the earth spinnin’ n’ shit, wasn’t nothin’ magical ‘bout it. Just meant another $15.75 for his coffee can, another night on the cold ground.  
  
“Goddamn! This ridin’ back n’ forth is a fuckin’ bitch!”  
  
A nod t’ the sheep tender _no point in wonderin’ ‘bout things that don’t have answers_ , his insides bubblin’ like the two cans a beans on the fire.  



End file.
